


Taking Bets and Making Wagers

by windchijmes



Category: X-Men (Movies), X-Men: First Class (2011) - Fandom
Genre: Bottom Erik, Explicit Sexual Content, M/M, Oral Sex, Rimming, Top Charles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-06-29
Updated: 2014-06-29
Packaged: 2018-02-06 17:37:03
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 5,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1866483
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/windchijmes/pseuds/windchijmes
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Erik is difficult and stubborn. Charles has a saintly level of persistence (and cunning). And neither of them can come to an agreement about who should bottom for their first time. So they have a bet. If Charles can make Erik beg for it, he wins. </p><p><i>And</i> he gets to top.</p><p><b>Warnings:</b> graphic unrepentant smut, oral, rimming</p>
            </blockquote>





	Taking Bets and Making Wagers

Erik Lehnsherr is many things.

But at the moment, Charles Xavier comes to the unequivocal conclusion that the man is _infuriating_. By the first week in the mansion, he’s shredded their defenses to pathetic tatters – and he’s right of course. Too open, too obvious, too many things. _A boathouse, really?_ He’s hurled Sean Cassidy off a satellite dish to inspire the kid to flight. He’s needled Alex Summers just to see if how well the boy can control his wild bursts of energy when he’s pissed off. He’s interfered with Raven and Hank’s budding romance so many –

Charles pauses in his mental tirade. Actually he’s rather grateful for that one. As much as he appreciates and respects Hank McCoy, both for his work and his temperament, that doesn’t mean he is jumping for joy over the kid canoodling with his _sister_. Grudgingly, he strikes the last bulleted point off his personal list of irksome Lehnsherr behavioral traits.

Most importantly, Erik gets under his skin like nobody else.

Charles has never met anyone who’s matched him so seamlessly. At work. In _bed_. The latter had been a most pleasant surprise, and a revelation, really. He cannot recall exactly how they even started. Perhaps a kiss or two after a chess game and several glasses of whiskey. Sex had followed, seemingly such a natural progression. Heated, careful, exploratory touching. Hurried, furtive blowjobs in various discreet corners of the cavernous mansion. Charles had found himself wondering since how he had lived the past near three-decades of his life without the man.

And just when they are ready to move on to the final, _penetrative_ act, for lack of a better term, they’ve hit a snag.

Neither of them can agree on who should be on the receiving end of things for their first time.

The funny truth is that both of them have done it either way – and liked it. For Charles, sex is easy fun. As long as it feels good for all involved parties, he’s along for the ride. Erik too enjoys sex, in a more compartmentalised manner. It is a physical release, and an opportunity to drown himself in pleasure without the plague of his memories. Charles has _made sure_ of that – that for the ugly stain of Sebastian Shaw on Erik’s childhood, he had not touched Erik that way. Because if he had, Charles cannot guarantee he wouldn’t kill Shaw _himself_.

In other words, Erik does not have hang-ups about actual penetration. Charles remembers the discussion they had just three days ago. Erik had, with an insufferably smug grin on his lips, simply gestured to his well-endowed crotch in a pointed reminder that he still had the advantage over Charles in _that_ department. Not that Charles is small, thank you very much. In fact, he’s surprised a good percentage of his lovers with his own considerable girth, proving soundly that a man’s height is not always equivalent to his size.

What followed in the next three days after that disagreement was Erik being a dreadful tease. The high-necks of the man’s silly turtlenecks got even higher – and tighter around the rest of his lean, muscled form. The pants got tighter too, occasionally leather, which did nothing to conceal the man’s slender hips and ridiculously narrow waist. And that tight, pert ass, godfuckingdamnmit. Not one other resident of the mansion can tell the difference in Erik’s dressing, of course. But Charles can. _Only Charles_.

So, Charles arrives at his current hypothesis that Erik is simply waiting to be challenged.

And if a challenge is what Erik wants, Charles is going to give him one.

++++++++++

Erik raises his head and stares at himself in the mirror. It is perfunctory now, a routine he has practised and perfected over the years. He appraises his appearance with little vanity in the act. He is aware of his own looks, knows that he appeals to certain men and women who delight in his brooding intensity. Next, he lifts his fingers to the scar above his lip, and others scattered near his hairline, reminding himself of how they had come about, and what else remains unresolved in his life.

He is so preoccupied with his thoughts that he does not sense the other man’s presence until he has ventured several steps out of the bathroom.

When he does, Erik’s chest tightens and he almost swings a hand out in an instinctive reach for metal. In the next heartbeat, he relaxes and raises an eyebrow. “I see you’re dressed for the occasion.” Without pausing, he goes on to open his wardrobe, rifling through suitable sets of attire.

Charles makes a noncommittal hum of assent. He is fully dressed. Knit vest. Equally comfortable bottoms. Limbs loosely arranged in a sprawl as he lounges on his side. Like this, he looks more a young scholar than professor. But Erik knows him better by now. The gleam in Charles’ azure eyes is wicked and promises all things unholy.

By comparison, Erik decides he looks much more nondescript. A bathrobe securely cinched around his waist. No visual double entendres. No scheming innocence.

“You look delectable, darling,” Charles offers from where he is reclining on the bed.

Erik just _looks_ at him. Charles has an easy way with compliments. He means them, he does, that much Erik can discern. But he can be rather – ah – effusive about it. Erik has seen his own reflection regularly enough to know that he isn’t half as attractive as Charles seems to think so. If anything, Charles is the one who is handsome. Beautiful, even. He is compact despite his shorter stature, possessing wiry strength in his frame. Eyes like the bluest skies in summer, and gentle, open features that break into a smile so very often. Perhaps a man like Charles feels more drawn to damaged minds. That would explain why he feels so compelled to persuade Erik –

A bright laugh from Charles now; he must have heard Erik’s thoughts. “Oh Erik, you don’t think I’m just partial to your _mind_ , do you?”

Without warning, a full-blown visual barrels into Erik’s brain. _Himself_ as seen through Charles’ eyes. The bathrobe obviously made for a shorter man previously, coming up to only Erik’s mid-thighs, baring a lewd amount of leg, and even more of upper thighs with every step he takes. Damp, heat-flushed skin against the white of the terry fabric. Charles’ gaze sliding under the material, wanting desperately to taste the flesh beneath.

Erik draws in a sharp inhalation, and _just_ manages to keep his breathing even. Charles’ arousal has an amplifying effect, nonetheless. Tendrils of warmth slither into Erik’s loins, settling and pooling. He shifts on his feet, half turning away. “Aren’t you going to join me?” he tosses over to Charles, glancing meaningfully at the younger man’s fully-clothed condition.

“Not at the moment.”

“No?”

“I have an idea.”

Erik looks up now, gaze sharpening. “Oh,” he keeps his tone level. So the game has started even without the chessboard and pieces. They indulge in this sometimes, engage in the twists and turns of _possibilities_.

A smile teases at the corners of Charles’ lips. “I would love nothing more than to bend you over the desk right there, rip that ludicrous robe off you and fuck you into oblivion.” And he backs it up with another obscene mental image of Erik looking thoroughly ravaged – robe rucked up around his hips, panting and clawing at the desk as he is being pounded into.

Erik fairly chokes on his breath. Both of them have their tricks, but Charles’ powers are decidedly more unfair. And something about the way profanities sound on Charles’ red lips is so _scintillating_. “Very interesting,” he concedes with a sideways glare. “But not entirely convincing. If I remember correctly, I haven’t agreed to that idea.”

“I can be convincing.”

Erik is unimpressed. “You’re a telepath. You can convince me I’m a woman, I’m sure.” At the way Charles’ eyes light up, he growls warningly, “Don’t you _dare_.”

“Oh, I won’t dream of it.” One look at Charles’ face, and yes, the man is definitely and obviously turning that idea over in the depths of his terrible mind.

Erik mutters something vulgar about mind-readers and their capacity for perversity.

“Let me try,” Charles just laughs. He sits up now, eager and determined and already weakening Erik’s resolve. “If I can make you beg – ” He smoothly ignores the derisive snort from Erik. “Then I get to fuck you.”

“And how do you propose _getting_ me to do just that?”

“With this,” Charles wriggles his fingers in the air, and that gesture alone would look so indecent if not for the absolute seriousness on his face. “And this,” he finishes with a wink, tapping one finger against his own mouth, and looking indecent in the end, after all. “Nothing else, I swear.”

Meaning his telepathy, Erik understands at once. Even with distance between them, the very air in the room seems to thicken with anticipation, making it hard to think, to breathe. Charles has made his move, but he would not make another without Erik’s participation. Such is the balance between them. It may teeter off-fulcrum, swing in favour to Erik’s side at one time, and Charles another day. But there it is, always, _always_ flickering between them.

“Make me beg,” Erik says slowly, letting the words curl like fingers towards Charles, pleased at the way Charles’ eyes darken in response. “And I’ll let you stick your cock in my ass.”

Charles’ gaze flares wide, then narrows into flints. “Very crude,” he chuckles, normally sweet tenor rougher than it was a moment ago. “But yes, that sums it up right.” He licks his lips, tantalising pink against the crimson of his lips.

“You get fifteen minutes.”

“Now that is hardly reasonable – ”

“Or nothing.”

“Fifteen minutes it is.”

“And if _I_ win? What do I get out of it?”

The damned telepath keeps his face straight. “The wildest night of your life.”

Erik just arches a brow. “Breakfast delivered personally to my bed for a week.”

“Very well.”

“Done.”

Charles _smiles_.

++++++++++

True to form, Erik does not obey readily. Nothing about surrender comes naturally to him. Charles has already beckoned to him, but Erik waits it out. Takes his time. Moves around the room, every movement sinuous, unknowingly – or perhaps knowingly – allowing Charles generous eyefuls of his legs.

At length, when he is ready, Erik turns fully to Charles and comes to him. Long, lean limbs flowing over the sheets, making the act of crawling look like something that really shouldn’t be so graceful, before folding into Charles’ waiting arms. Their kiss is eager, hungry, Charles pulling Erik on top of him as he leans back onto the bed. Slow, wet pulls of meshed lips and Charles opens his mouth to let Erik’s tongue in and steals Erik’s breaths in return. It is easy and comfortable and familiar, and Charles probably can go on kissing the man forever.

Between the heated glide of their bodies, Erik’s hands are busy, sliding down Charles’ sides to grip his legs. Obligingly, Charles wraps them around Erik’s waist – and drags him down to grind their groins together. A gasp. Erik tears his mouth away to suck in a breath as his barely-covered crotch rubs against the fabric of Charles’ pants.

“You’re overdressed,” he murmurs, eyes gradually lulled shut by the kisses Charles begins branding into his jaw.

Charles chuckles, breathless himself. “And you’re barely so. Makes us even,” he urges Erik’s lips back to his own.

It takes a fair bit of concentration to keep his mental shields secure, while focusing on the task at hand, but Charles is a brilliant multi-tasker. Just a _bit_ more. He wraps an arm around Erik, hand coming to rest on the man’s nape. He had found this one out quite by accident – that Erik enjoys being petted there. And so Charles caresses him, stroking the soft hairs and skin and easing the last vestiges of tension that remain reluctant to leave Erik. Beneath his fingers, Erik relaxes entirely, body sinking onto Charles.

Charles chooses that very moment to push himself up with one foot and flip them over. He grins down at Erik blinking stupidly up at him. It’s a much more advantageous position for Charles to work from, with the additional visual benefits of having Erik’s limbs sprawled so openly for him. He kneels between Erik’s spread thighs, pushing them even further apart on either side of him, the cloth just barely obscuring his groin and maintaining the flimsy façade of modesty. It is heady, intoxicating relish for Charles, stemming from the very knowledge that _Erik is allowing him_. That he would trust Charles enough to put himself in such a vulnerable state.

Lying on his back now, Erik simply waits. His confidence is still intact – when would it ever not be – and he shows no shame in his own growing state of undress. Very good. That should make it all the sweeter when he yields _later_.

Bending down, Charles cups the man’s face in his hands and kisses him again. On the lips, his chin, and down that beguiling stretch of neck. There is a fleeting moment of hesitation before Erik is throwing his head back and sighing into the bruising kisses seared into his throat. Charles does not let him rest, moving tongue and teeth over Erik’s chest, his hands coming up to push the robe off those broad shoulders, loosely trapping Erik’s arms by his sides.

When he straightens himself again, he finds himself very much approving of the debauched picture Erik makes now.

“Want to know how you look?” Charles teases his lover, as much as he’s teasing himself. The front of his pants is getting _uncomfortable_.

Somehow Erik still manages a delicate roll of his eyes. “You said you wouldn’t use your powers.”

“And I wouldn’t,” Charles’ grin widens. “I believe I have an excellent grasp of verbosity.” He lets his gaze rake deliberately over Erik. “I like you half-clothed. Because you’re covered.” His hands settle on those lovely thighs bracketing him, liking the way the muscles quiver under his touch. “ _But I know what’s in there_.” He slides his palms upwards, dragging the robe up with them until it reveals a hint of dark hair and just the fleshy tip of what Charles knows is an impressive cock. “Very nice,” he tells Erik, not missing the flush that is starting to surface at the man’s neck.

“Xavier,” Erik grates out. He is frowning too – an expression that Charles finds inexplicably endearing on his face, particularly coupled with the fact that Charles is always reduced to just Xavier when he is doing something Erik disapproves of.

“Well then,” Charles declares, satisfied with the progress of the events of the night. “Shall we begin now?”

Erik jerks up onto his elbows, frown deepening into a stunned glare. “ _Now_? You already – ”

“You said fifteen minutes. You didn’t say when.”

The expression on Erik’s face is priceless. “That’s _cheating_.”

Charles disagrees, of course, but if he’s called a cheat, he may as well take it to the exhilarating end. So he cheats a little more and reaches a hand into Erik’s robe to grasp the man firmly by his shaft. Erik may have opened his mouth to argue, but what issues instead from his lips is a stifled groan. _Smooth, heavy, full._ Charles takes his time to enjoy the feel of Erik’s flesh in his palm, fondling it to make it grow even harder and hotter, and kneading until Erik is again spread out on his back, teeth digging into his lower lip to stop himself from crying out.

With his free hand, Charles tugs his own pants free, reaching in and pulling himself out. The way Erik’s steel-blue gaze rivets on his length almost buckles his knees. Erik’s always liked to watch, and Charles gives him a show of it. He strokes himself, slow and light, just enough to keep himself on the edge, feeling Erik’s eyes like a touch itself on his arousal, urging him along.

It takes considerable will to force his own hand away from his erection, the ticking-down of their allotted time a constant reminder at the back of Charles’ mind. Lowering himself purposefully, he lets his lips hover just above the now fully-hard shaft he’s still gripping in his hand.

“Shall I put this in my mouth?” he speaks, breath whispering hotly over Erik’s throbbing flesh. Erik doesn’t answer; he just turns his head aside with that stubborn clench to his jaw. Oh, a little persuasion, then. Bending his head, Charles sucks Erik’s cock into his mouth.

A strangled moan squeezes out of Erik’s throat as Charles works him steadily. Lips suckling around that blunt cockhead, tongue circling the tingling underside, then ever so gently over the sensitive slit to tease the wetness from it. It is salty-sweet on Charles’ tongue and he laps greedily at it. Beneath their bodies, the metal coils in the mattress hum in a wordless song.

“ _Charles_ ,” Erik gasps.

Charles pulls away and raises his head to a sight. Hair dishevelled upon the pillow, and bared chest rising and falling in rapid beats, Erik looks wrought with desire. His eyes, normally so piercing and ferocious, are glazed with want.

“What do you want?” Charles urges him. “Tell me.”

Just for a heartbeat, it does seem like Erik would succumb then and ask Charles for what he needs. Then, the spell is broken and the infuriating man shakes his head.

“I haven’t lost,” Erik bites out without venom, not when his declaration is punctuated with a whimper as Charles rubs a thumb around his weeping, reddened cockhead.

It wouldn’t be Erik if he doesn’t make Charles work for it now, would it. _There is time yet._ Moving decisively and swiftly, Charles strips himself of his vest, not even bothering to fold it like he usually would. This is a rudimentary effort at seduction, he has to admit. While he is nowhere as lean as Erik is, Charles is more than reasonably fit and robust. From the way Erik stares appreciatively at his uncovered body confirms Charles’ self-evaluation. No time to dwell on it, however. He reaches over and grabs a stray pillow, then marvels at how effortless it is to hook a forearm under Erik’s girlishly slim waist and haul him up enough to shove the pillow under his lower back.

He hears the questioning _Charles?_ from the confused man but doesn’t respond because he’s too enthralled at the way this new angle tilts Erik’s lower torso backwards and opens him up _entirely_ for Charles’ viewing pleasure. Placing one hand under each of Erik’s thighs, he pushes him up and out – and _there it is_.

The puckered bud between Erik’s buttocks – soft and blushing and begging to be licked even if Erik wouldn’t say it.

“Christ!” the man hisses, legs shuddering as he instinctively tries to close them.

Charles is without mercy now. Keeping Erik’s thighs firmly splayed, he bends his head and drags his tongue over that little hole. It is raw, base pleasure. The wrinkled muscle flutters helplessly against Charles’s wet nipping kisses as he coaxes it open. And further above, Erik’s head tosses restlessly as he moans from the assault. Musky, metallic scent and taste all around Charles like a sultry perfume, tempting him, provoking him. Stiffening his tongue, Charles lays just the tip of it against that now wet hole, then _delves_ inside.

A long, drawn-out cry reverberates from the body beneath Charles as the thick, slippery muscle of Charles’ tongue undulates deep into Erik’s channel. Around him, Erik is writhing shamelessly, groaning, holding his own legs up for Charles’ head to bury even deeper, wanting more of those sinful wet thrusts into his hole. Slick, molten, _good_ , and a promise of even more pleasure – if only Erik would ask for it.

_Please._

The single word imprints onto Charles’ mind and he stops everything. His own erection hangs unfulfilled and heavy between his thighs. He’s so hard – has been hard since the game began – and now he _would_ get what he wants to hear from his lover.

“Please what?” Charles manages, voice hoarse with desire. He waits, no longer caring how many minutes have passed and who’s won or lost. He needs Erik with the frightening, singular ferocity that first drove him into the icy waters to drag the man back from the cusp of death. And he knows he would do so again and again, as many times as he has to even when their stage draws to a close and the last chess-game between them comes to finality.

“Tell me – I want to hear you,” Charles demands, heedless to how much he sounds like a child right then, because he needs Erik to _say_ it.

Erik’s expression is inscrutable for an overly-long moment. Then, like an unfurling new blossom, a smile lifts his lips. He rises shakily onto his hands – flushed, sweaty, undone and still damningly beautiful – and takes one of Charles’ hands. Pulls it towards his own face. “I want you,” he breathes, pressing Charles’ fingers against his temple. “ _Inside_ me.”

In every sense of the word. Perish the rules of the game. Charles realises somewhat dumbly that Erik is inviting him in completely. Then Charles’ mental shields crumble and he plunges into Erik’s mind. It is clumsy and too-slow, like wading in treacle, sifting past memories and information until he finds the glowing kernel of _wantyou-alwayshave-alwayswill-youstupid-stupidman_ reserved only for him.

When he withdraws, Charles is sure he is grinning like a fool, because Erik takes a look at him and huffs, “You can fuck me when it’s time. No rush.” But his tone is indulgent, playful even.

It makes Charles light-headed – and just a bit brazen – and he is confident Erik isn’t going to skewer him when he slides his hands under the man to squeeze large handfuls of firm buttocks. That earns him a growl and a smack towards his head which he ducks easily. He shucks off the rest of his clothes, using all his resolve not to give in to the impulse to rub his aching shaft to completion. More urgent matters at hand, literally, he reminds himself as he clambers back onto the bed.

Then his mouth goes dry when he sees what Erik has done to himself. Gloriously naked now, wearing only a little smirk on his face, his arms are raised and wrists manacled to the bedframe with his own power, the metal twisting around his wrists like silver vine. His feet are firmly planted on the bed, ass still propped up on the pillow. Displayed like an offering for Charles.

“Surprised?” there are notes of disbelief, wonder and gratification all at once in Erik’s quiet laugh.

“Yes,” Charles responds honestly, surprised _and_ intrigued as he leans down and lays himself out over Erik, closing all the distance between their bodies until neither of them can tell where one’s flesh begins and the other ends. “You did surprise me.”

“I didn’t think that was possible,” Erik admits.

“The human mind will always find a way. One can never hope to extinguish it, curb its wings, destroy it,” Charles presses a kiss to Erik’s chest, then another one on his nipple, drawing a soft exhalation from his lover. “Not even me. Perhaps you will surprise me at every turn.”

“Is that a challenge?”

Charles smiles up at the fondness in Erik’s eyes. “Another wager for another day.”

“Good. Because I need you to fuck me now.”

Charles doesn’t think he’s ever obeyed a command that quickly because they are both painfully hard and aroused by now. “Lube,” he barks, reaching out with a hand already as the drawer flies open by Erik’s power and the spring-mechanism vial of lubricant – along with – good god – _condoms_ neatly packed in a tin – spin into Charles’ grasp. There is very little finesse in it; Erik is barely controlling his powers as it is, even if he has the foresight to attach metal to every sexual device they would ever need for easy reach. Charles can hardly control his own damned fingers as he slathers them with lube.

At the first touch of fingers between his buttocks, Erik tenses. For all of the earlier preparation and foreplay, he is still unbelievably tight. _Been a while_ , Erik’s voice resounds in his mind. The admission almost unravels Charles there and then as a stab of possessiveness jolts his every nerve. Perhaps Erik feels it too with the way his gaze is so intent upon Charles. _Been a while since there’s been anyone else._

Charles would go slow then, as slowly as he possibly can with his loins inflamed and needing release. A finger pushes through the tight clamp of Erik’s entrance. Then two. He twists them all around Erik’s passage, smearing it with lube, spreading it wider.

 _I’m ready_ , Erik projects, mouth working incoherently and quite unable to form words.

 _Not yet_. Charles isn’t even sure if he’s speaking to Erik or himself in his own mind. All his concentration is on his fingers, adding a third and scissoring them steadily back and forth until Erik is gripping the bedframe with white knuckles.

“Now, Charles!” Erik snarls, frustration crackling through in his body. The coils in the mattress are vibrating now.

“Patience,” Charles says through clenched teeth, trying to get through the mechanics as swiftly as he can in his current condition. Condom tugged around his leaking cock. Hitching Erik’s legs up to throw them over his shoulders. Sparing a second to wonder at how flexible the man is. Bracing the head of his shaft at Erik’s hole –

And pushing, straining his own body as he holds himself back from simply plunging and ravaging, feeling shivers echo throughout Erik’s body in response. Then the initial resistance gives way and he wedges _inside_ Erik just an inch.

Their groans spill into the stifling air.

Erik’s hair is damp with perspiration, face drawn taut as he struggles to ease into the penetration. Yet his mind screams _nownownow_ like a litany of entreaties battering at Charles’ restraint. The telepath’s control is tenuous now, hanging by mere _shreds_.

He slides in another inch and squeezes his eyes shut. Then another, and another, painstaking inch by inch, until his resolve shatters and his hips drive forward to bury himself to the hilt inside Erik. Charles’ eyes snap open and he searches frantically for Erik’s mind, relieved only when he finds the pleasure thrumming through the pain. It is liquid heat all around Charles, like darkest velvet, maddeningly good. Made all the sweeter when Erik turns lust-drunk eyes onto him and begs him to move.                                

Short, shallow rolls at first to build a rhythm that has them both panting. Then all it takes is a stream of _pleasepleaseCharlesplease_ into his mind and he hurls all caution to the wind. He thrusts in earnest now, gripping Erik’s waist with both hands, dragging him back into every lunge, fucking deep and hard into the feverish body twisting under his own. He finds his mark when a startled whine of pleasure stutters from Erik, and he pounds into it relentlessly. Erik is strung like a bow between Charles’ intensifying pace and the bedframe, reddened, heavy cock slapping lewdly against his belly with each plunge and drag, leaving glistening stickiness between their heaving bodies.

The very image of sin itself.

Erik lifts his head, gaze fixed blindly and unwaveringly on Charles. _Let me feel you, Charles_. His body clenches around Charles, wrapping him like a cocoon, surrounding Charles with his warmth, his scent, his very being.

How can he refuse – how _would_ he? The last of Charles’ control is ripped away and his thrusts grow brutal, erratic, driving himself towards the precipice. The coil in his loins grows impossibly taut – then he is falling, crying out, white blanking his vision, his erection jumping and spurting deep inside Erik, wishing it is Erik’s body that is coated in his release and not the damned rubber.

When he can string his thoughts together after his climax, Charles realises it is damp skin beneath his cheek. He sighs and pushes himself up. _Perfection_ , Charles hears from Erik’s mind, and almost blushes. _You are_ , he returns, pulling out as gently as he can, rubbing Erik’s thighs in apology when he winces anyway.

Erik is still painfully hard, uncontrollable little tremors wracking his whole body as he aches with the need to come. _Let me take care of you_ , Charles whispers to him, reaching out both physically and mentally as he takes Erik’s cock into his mouth and slips into his mind at the same time. He does not tease now, sliding it as far as it would go into his throat, and dragging his lips up and down its engorged length until Erik is choking on his sobs and lifting his hips into that rough caress. All around them, everything metal is coming to alive, rippling and vibrating.

 _I have you_ , he wraps frissons of pleasure around Erik’s mind until that is all he feels. _How you taste on my tongue, how much I want you, how good this is. Let me have it, Erik. Come on._

Whimpering, Erik’s body arcs upwards – and thick bitter-saltiness floods Charles’ mouth. He swallows what he can, then pulls off, wrapping his hand around Erik instead. The spurting cock twitches in his hand, and he massages it in encouragement, coaxing yet more spatters from it. The last of the fluids he cleans with his tongue, laving over the moist cockhead until Erik squirms in protest.

Charles releases the oversensitised man and drops a kiss onto his thigh. As Erik lies recovering from his intense orgasm, staring dazedly at the ceiling, Charles does a quick survey of the room. A bronze figurine has changed posture. The gold-plated letter-opener is now embedded in the wall – slightly alarming but no harm done. But oh dear, Charles stares at the metal coils that have burrowed _out_ of the mattress, just missing their bodies by inches.

“Sorry,” Erik’s voice is tinged with contriteness and unusually husky from the earlier exertions. The shackles are gone from his wrist, bedframe bent back into shape, and he is rubbing his wrists with a grimace. “I haven’t done that since…Well, I’ve never done that before – _get that look off your face, Xavier_.”

Charles doubts he can. He has a feeling he will be wearing this particular grin until their next session. And oh look, he’s _Xavier_ again.

“Awfully smug, are we,” Erik scowls, sounding almost petulant in his bristling temper.

“Absolutely not,” Charles replies in all earnestness. “I mean, I _have_ won, just so we’re clear. But you need not apologise for anything. I had every intention of replacing this bed with something a little more conducive for nocturnal activities. Meanwhile – ” And he _had_ to choose this moment to dice with death. “We can always use that.” He points helpfully at the furniture in question.

The _desk_.

Erik’s face turns a remarkable shade of crimson.

And Charles knows he deserves the flying picture frame to his head a second later.

++++++++++

Charles Xavier is just one thing.

Everything in the world – and unlike anything in the world. At the same time.

Erik knows he isn’t even making any sense but considering his current predicament, he thinks it is entirely excusable. Yes, yes that night had been wild and beyond even Erik’s own fantasies. But he has also thoroughly forgotten how horrid the mornings-after can be. He’s thirty, for crying out loud. Not the right age to be doubled over and fucked as thoroughly as he had been fucked – which had been so perversely good he may just want it again.

No, _no_ he doesn’t, does he?

The headache rekindles anew in his brain and Erik has to press his fingers against his forehead to stem it back. Elsewhere on his body, his back is still feeling the strain. And his ass. Hole, specifically. There is no point in dancing around these things anymore, is there? Not after he’d begged Charles to fuck him and then came in his mouth. The burn in his ass is still there. Charles had demanded loudly and worriedly to check for tearing, subsiding only after Erik threatened to bruise his pretty head with the wall clock. Maybe there is tearing; Erik hasn’t bottomed in a long time. Maybe there isn’t. In the end, he has resolved to weather this through pure stoicism alone.

The one thing he does wish for is for everyone in this godforsaken mansion to stop looking at him like he’s an injured nestling. He’s told the kids he strained himself during strenuous exercise, which is remarkably close to the truth. He’s not told Charles anything because Charles is responsible for this.

And now he sounds like a deflowered maiden.

 _I rather like that image_ , comes Charles’ mental voice.

“You would,” Erik returns dryly. He knows Charles is coming up from behind him from the pull on the metal buttons on the telepath’s attire. He leans his head back just as Charles’ hands come to rest on his shoulders and wrap around him.

“Did I hurt you?”

The retort on Erik’s tongue dissipates when he realises Charles is serious. Of course he would be. It’s _Charles_ – who would rather see himself dead than take the life of another. Erik holds the other man’s gaze for a long beat. From this angle, the brimming affection and distress on Charles’ face take Erik’s breath away.

“You never would,” Erik says and lifts his face to meet Charles’ kiss. Tender and sensuous and frighteningly addictive.

When they part, however, the unholy mischief is back in Charles’ seemingly-innocent eyes. “I bet I can make you scream.”

“ _Charles_.”

 

* * *

_finis_

**Author's Note:**

> Interestingly enough, though I loved X-Men First Class, it didn't spur me on to write anything. Then the promotion for X-Men DOFP came about and BAM, I'm obsessed with Cherik now! Especially bottom!Erik. So I feel the need to contribute to the greatness that is Erik's arse. Not my first smut fic, but my first X-Men First Class fic. My apologies in advance for any irregularities!


End file.
